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In my last post I left you guys hanging with cancer thoughts and flea infestations. And by you guys, I mean the three people who stumble upon this blog because they Google “Kate Winslet naked,” and this comes up. Welcome, friends!

I apologize for my leave of absence, but here I am now giving you the fun news.

He’s in art school for gaming and 3D design (something cool like that) and he’s in a life drawing class. He asked his friends if they would be interested in posing nude for his personal work. No one wanted to.

And since the best sex of my life, we have kept in touch. We are friends. So, it wasn’t completely out of left field when I got the message. I mean, when I first got the message I thought, well that sounds kind of fun. I’ve always thought it would be fun to model nude since Titanic came out (I was in 6th grade).

But then I started thinking more about it. Naked. Like this is all out there naked. But he has already seen me. It was over a year ago, but still, it wasn’t all out in front of lights and posing. It was in the throws of passion and (forgiving) mood lighting. So I talked myself out of it. It was stressing me out thinking about it, so I decided maybe not.

Then I brought it up with my girly friend. “So, I’m thinking of modeling nude for a friend. Should I do it?” She was immediately giddy with excitement (and wine) “Yes! You should do it! I’ll do it. Let’s do it!” And so we did.

If there is any perfect time to pose nude and have a talented artist draw you it’s 1) when you are single and 2) when you are young.

We qualified.

And it was amazing. And I learned something. I grew a little bit.

Being naked in front of my friend and Allen was a little strange at first. I found myself avoiding looking down. Like if I didn’t look down I wouldn’t remember that my junk was all out. And then after 10 minutes or so it was better. It wasn’t weird. We got into a rhythm and it was fun. I came up with some ideas. I felt pretty. I felt like when I was little and I would throw all of my clothes off because they were in the way. I would run around and no one got mad at me or told me to put my clothes back on. They let me be little and naked. I always felt pretty.

The older I got the more clothes and being pretty became something to worry about. I was poor, or rather my single mom and I were poor. I didn’t have the cool clothes. But I wanted them. I was wrapped up in what Cosmo Girl told me was pretty. I wanted those things. It’s funny how much your perception of pretty and “cool” changes between the ages of 12-25. My first word as a baby was “pretty.” Mostly due to the fact that my mom and grandma called everything pretty. Pretty airplane. Pretty sky. Pretty picture. I perched up on the crib railing one night cooing, “Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty.” And up until I was 10 or so I actually called my vagina “pretty.” It wasn’t a down-there, or a vagina, it was my pretty. When I realized it technically wasn’t called this, I was a little sad. Those around me were weirded out. Looking back, I think it’s sweet.

Standing there naked brought me back to small me memories. But in a grown up me. A woman. A woman’s body. The imperfections. The scars. the moles. The razor burn. It was me. And I had to be ok with it. I was ok with it. I was proud of me. I was pretty.

I’m glad I experienced this with my friend and with Allen. With friends I trust and respect very much. And at the end of the day, it gave me something that I had no idea it would. A kind of strange confidence and sense of self. And mom not included, this was the first time I have been naked in front of someone and not in a sexual way. It’s definitely something I will never forget.

And I get to keep the artwork. Ya know, for a rainy day when I’m wondering what I look like naked because I’m too lazy to take off my clothes and look. I’ll have it forever. And maybe, one day, it will mean something like Rose’s naked drawing from Titanic. Who was this lady? Where did she come from? She’s pretty.

I’m about 30 pages away from finishing a book. And I needed a breather. I needed to write about it–process it a bit before I turn to the next page. I know the ending; I’ve seen the movie. It’s gonna hurt.

The movie Revolutionary Road (2008) was directed by Sam Mendes starring Kate Winslet and Leo DiCaprio. The book came out in 1951 by author by Richard Yates. This book and movie is one of the most depressing things I’ve ever read/seen. The book is more misogynistic, painting one of the main characters, April Wheeler, as a narcissistic, nagging shell of a woman. But this is also fascinating to me. It’s Yates own feelings towards his wife. Towards women in the 1950s. I didn’t get this vibe from the 2008 movie. I’ll spare us my wordy, yet well-informed [re: a B.A. in Film and Videos Studies] review.

Basically, this story is all of my worse fears rolled up and laid out into 337 pages.

It was the 1950s, when white picket fences and 2 1/2 kids and a dog were the ideal. That sounds familiar… OH, wait, because it still IS the ideal. At least in Oklahoma it’s the cat’s meow.

I don’t want to give anything away, but this book has it all–it’s about marriage, love, hate, children, work, and death. All at the expense of said American Dream.

It sounds cozy…for all about 10 seconds and then I have a panic attack. No, not really, that’s dramatic and thank gods I’ve never had one of those. But I do start squirming a bit and pulling at my imaginary turtleneck.

The American Dream terrifies me. Not because of what it actual is. But because of what it implies. Yielding the American Dream implies that I will be bored…feel useless…stop all creative things…be drone-like…wonder “what if I had…?” on an hourly basis…and worse of all, be unhappy even though I have everything I American Dreamed up.

I just want to make sure that what I want and go after is MY Dream. Not The American kind. If they align in anyway, cool then. But if not, I have to remind myself that it’s OK if I don’t want to live on Revolutionary Road.

It’s just hard sometimes when you live in a place like Oklahoma, Americuh…where it surrounds you. Day in, day out I’m told that happiness is to have a house, have a family, have a job, have a dog…have a fucking drink.

Marriage semi-terrifies me. I thought it was going to happen with MF which is one of the reasons that relationshit has been so hard to surpass. But it really scares me. Not because I think I will lose who I am, but because I don’t know who I will be. I will still be 25swf at heart- questioning, curious, loving, persuasive, adventurous, random, sometimes smelly, and consistently geographically challenged. But will I have the same drive, the same passion, the same yearning to grow and to be a better person? I don’t have the answers. But I don’t want to be cozy.

I want to be challenged.

Yours pushing away Revolutionary Road where warm fuzzies grow and the weeds of reality creep their way in,